The Garden
by Licorice Tears
Summary: They say, that these blue flowers of living metals are the color of someone's eyes, some girl alive long, long, ago. Some girl with such special, lovely blue, eyes, who danced in the grasses and sunlight, with compassion in her eyes, and fear, always fear, of the darkness. Some special girl, they say, that lived so well, and died too soon.


.

.

A/N: Me is back! Yay! Hugs and unicorn-puppy hybrids all around.

_**If anyone knows good, completed fanfiction, please tell me? Pretty, pretty, please? Specifics on my profile. Please? Just click the little blue button saying **Illyessa Fa Carnet** and I'll love you forever. This thing is almost routine by now.**_

Enjoy!

* * *

Here in this garden of metal cornflowers, there are some who say that they still can remember where these strange, beautiful freaks of nature came from.

They say, that these blue flowers of living metals are the color of someone's eyes, some girl who lived long, long, ago. Some girl with such special, lovely blue eyes, some girl who danced in the grasses and sunlight, with compassion in her eyes, and fear, always hidden fear, of the darkness. Some special girl, they say, that lived so well, and died too soon. Some girl, they say that became the most loved duchess the world would ever see, some girl so special that when she died, her siblings immortalized her in metal roses.

Some girl who held such a place in their hearts, and when she left, left it empty, cold.

They say, that in this garden of living metal, there are three siblings, one greener than grass, one greyer than storm, one golden as fire. Three siblings no longer human, for they gave up their humanity to tend to these cornflowers, to tend to the memory of their sister. So special she and they must be, for such selfless, determined devotion. So strange they also must be, and powerful, to create something like these flowers.

Sometimes, some say, these three siblings rouse enough out of their dreams to speak to those in the garden.

One girl who visited this famed garden, with eyes almost as blue as the cornflowers, remembers the sad, ever-knowing, almost deranged, looks on their faces. A look that haunts her nightmares, now and will forever. Such a searching, desperate, look, she said.

One novice of some temple, a mage with thread-magic, remembers the hopeful smile on Golden One's face when she passed her by, and then the frown of such _searing _disapointment. Such sorrow, some say, should never be felt by any one, she said, she thought. They wonder what might have happened.

A special girl she must have been.

A very special girl.

* * *

Sometimes, two old women and a man will come here, with others, younger, ut still very old. They are all mages from someplace called Winding Circle, a thread-mage, a dance-mage, a stone-mage, a green-mage, a carpenter-mage.

The the others in the garden have always wondered who they were, these people that come so often and try to tug the Tenders of the metal flowers out of the garden.

At the beginning, one of the women had tried to force the Tenders out of their garden. But stay they did, though some whispers carry mention of that woman being a Rosethorn, someone the whispers would never have dared defy. These Tenders must have been powerful, wonderful, people, to stop The Rosethorn.

But now, all those mages do is walk in the garden, smelling the sweet, metallic, scent of the cornflowers. Sometimes they talk among themselves, shaking their heads in sorrow. Once, when the Green One passed by, they tried to talk to Him, but he passed them by, with that blank, vacant stare He always has when He is not with Them, or tending the cornflowers. Once, when the Grey One was watering the metal flowers, they tried to block Her, try to do something, anything interupt Her, to make her listen to them, to notice them for a second, to make Her do _anything_ but stare at them absently with that vacant glance full of nothing, nothing, nothing. But nothing will ever work, it seems, and She went on, calling the rain down in showers, oblivious to everything but tending to the cornflowers.

And so now they have given up, and walk silently in the gardens, so sad always, so sad.

Them in the gardens wondered who those people were, to be so sad among such marvelous flowers.

* * *

Here in this garden of metal cornflowers, there are some who say that they still can remember where these strange beautiful freaks of nature came from.

They say, that these blue flowers of living metals are the color of someone's eyes, some girl alive long, long, ago. Some girl with such special, lovely blue eyes, some girl who danced in the grasses and sunlight, with compassion in her eyes, and fear, always hidden fear, of the darkness. Some special girl, they say, that lived so well, and died too soon. Some girl, they say that became the most loved duchess the world would ever see, some girl so special that when she died, her siblings immortalized her in metal roses.

They say, that in this garden of living metal, there are three siblings, one green as grass, one grey as storm, one golden as fire. Three siblings no longer human, for they gave up their humanity to tend to these cornflowers, to tend to the memory of their sister. So special she and they must be, for such devotion.

So special they must be, those that love that girl who died so much.

So very special they all must be.

* * *

_R and R please!_

_Bye, bye, _

_Cocunut Creme Cake a la apples_


End file.
